


Untitled

by ladeeeeda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Captivity, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Human Dean, Human Trafficking, Hunter Dean, Incubus Sam, Incubus Sam Winchester, Kidnapped Dean, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Monster Sam, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrelated Winchesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladeeeeda/pseuds/ladeeeeda
Summary: Sam is an incubus in need of a constant and convenient food source.Dean is a hunter, captured by the supernatural community to be sold to monsters.*currently on hiatus, but I may continue it at some point*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wrapped in Honey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194219) by [lady emebalia (emebalia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emebalia/pseuds/lady%20emebalia). 



> This story is largely based on and inspired by the story "Wrapped in Honey" by lady emebalia (emebalia). If you think this is interesting, you'd love her work, and I strongly encourage you to check it out.
> 
> Reading her story, I couldn't help but wonder; what if Dean WAS still a hunter? This is my interpretation of that scenario.

           Sam hated this place. He understood its necessity in a city this size, with hundreds of supernatural creatures feeding on humans, but that didn’t mean the concept didn’t bother him.

           Every day, humans were snatched from all around the country, carted here to be sold as food so his kind could feed inconspicuously. They snagged anyone and everyone that wouldn’t be noticed- runaways, illegal immigrants, the homeless- anyone they knew they could get away with.

             Until now, Sam had relied on his own skills of seduction in order to feed. It was his practice to find a willing partner when he was hungry, but it was still time consuming and inconvenient. He was weak when he was hungry. It put him in danger from hunters and the less-than-friendly of the supernatural community. He felt it was time for a constant, more convenient food source.

             Looking around to make sure he went unnoticed by any passers-by, he stepped into a nearby alleyway, knocking three times on the unmarked door before him. A pair of eyes peered at him through the tiny window, and he met them uncertainly. He heard the latch slide back, and was ushered inside by a gruff-looking man who locked the door again firmly behind him.

            “First time here?” the man asked him politely, with a smile.

            Sam nodded uneasily, eyeing the huge man, whom he assumed was a werewolf if he worked here.

            “You can head right through those doors and down the stairs, and an associate will meet you shortly,” said the man, gesturing towards a pair of double doors Sam assumed led to stairs.

            “Thanks,” Sam mumbled as the doors were held open for him _. Great, a shady basement,_ Sam thought. _This was probably a stupid idea._ He made his way downwards.

            He was met at the bottom by a well-dressed gentleman in suit and tie, who introduced himself as Mr. Alcott. His handshake was firm.

            He jumped right into his sales pitch, reassuring Sam that all purchases were guaranteed- all cargo had been through the proper health screenings and was suitable for consumption. In addition, no law enforcement or pesky relatives would come looking for the cargo. He kept using that word, _cargo._  

            Sam almost said something to the guy. He couldn’t at least call them people? Humans, maybe, but certainly not _cargo._ The word left a bitterness behind.

            But he held it in. What right did he have to chastise this guy, when he was just as bad? Sure, he didn’t kill anyone when he fed on them, but he was still there with the intention of purchasing a human being, using them as a food source. At least other monsters killed and ate their victims quickly; Sam was looking to hold someone prisoner for the long term, purely for his own convenience.

            “So, Mr. Wesson, were you looking for anything in particular?” Mr. Alcott brought him back from his musings.

            “Male,” Sam said. “20’s. Attractive.” He kept it generic. He didn’t think he’d really know until he saw them in person.

            With the diversity among the ever-growing supernatural community, Sam knew the place catered to the wants and needs of all kinds of supernatural creatures- he had no doubt they would have exactly what he was looking for.

            “That should be no problem. Please, follow me.”

            Mr. Alcott led him down another hallway to what appeared to be a showroom. It was filled with corridors, lined on either side by thick glass windows. Through each window, Sam saw small groups of people sorted into separate rooms. There were rooms for young women, older women, teenagers, little boys, little girls, and finally, young men. Most of the prisoners sat or slept on mats, faces downcast.

            Sam ran his hand along the thick glass separating him from them. “Why the windows?” he asked, as they came to a stop in front of a particular display.

“Well, we used to have bars. There’s a spell in place that keeps them from leaving the premises or from attacking anyone, but the noise was awful. And they’d throw things. So we replaced it with bullet proof glass. Seems to do the trick!”

            Sam suddenly realized the place had the eerie silence of a nursing home or a hospital. It felt clinical, and smelled like some kind of cleaner. He could just barely hear soft voices coming from the other hallways, but that was probably just other customers like himself.

            Reaching out, Mr. Alcott pressed a button directly next to the window they stood in front of. Sam heard some kind of slightly muffled alarm, and the men inside quickly stood and lined up on the painted line about a foot from the window, eyes at the floor.

            Mr. Alcott wasn’t pushy, and Sam took his time, carefully eyeing up each of the men. A few were very attractive, no doubt about it, and they were all in good shape, but something just wasn’t clicking.

            “I don’t think they’re what I’m looking for.”

Mr. Alcott gestured to the cell next door, but before Sam could look away, one of the men lifted his head, and for a split second their eyes met. The man looked a little scared, sure, but more obvious was the rage emanating from behind those green eyes. The man did his best to stare Sam down, but Sam broke eye contact first, and smiled.

            “Actually, Mr. Alcott, can I get a better look at the second from the left here?”


	2. Chapter 2

            Dean was just finishing up with a job in one of the big cities. As he made his way back to the Impala, there was a sharp sting in the side of his neck. He had just enough time to think, “ _Oh, shit!”_ before his vision went black and he crumpled to the ground.

            He woke up with one hand cuffed to the inside wall of a big container, some kind of delivery truck if he had to guess. Immediately, he checked his pockets. His cell phone, wallet, lock pick, and any hidden weapons he’d had on him were all gone, of course. All around him were similarly cuffed people; one still out cold, head slumped to the side. The bearded guy to his left had no idea what happened. Hit with a tranquilizer, woke up handcuffed wherever this was. There were 11 of them in total. No one had any clue who had taken them or why, or where they were being taken.

            Normally, Dean had a pretty good idea of what to do in this kind of situation. Got kidnapped? Well, pull a Houdini, kill the monster, and move on. Simple enough in his line of work.

            What stopped him were the other people in the truck. They were clearly civilians. A few rundown homeless people, what looked like a teenager who had run away with her little sister, and a scrawny young man who looked like he was about to have a meltdown.

            These people weren’t hunters, obviously. So maybe this didn’t have anything to do with monsters, for once. Maybe this was just regular old wack-jobs. Either way, he couldn’t leave all these people. He could probably jump from a moving truck and not die, but the little girl over there and the rest of these guys? Hell no. Better to wait for an opportunity to get everyone out of here safe and sound.

So he relaxed against the cuffs and leaned back, biding his time.

            After what felt like several hours, the truck slowed down, and Dean felt the vehicle slowly pull into some kind of entrance, move forward a bit, and finally stop.

            He tried to shield his eyes against the unforgiving light from the opening doors, but ended up squinting anyway.

            Three large men stood in the doorway to the truck, one with a large set of keys in hand. Key guy worked his way among the prisoners, starting from one side of the truck and moving clockwise. One by one, the man un-cuffed each prisoner from the side of the truck, re-cuffing their hands together and escorting them individually down a small ramp.

            He came to Dean, who allowed himself to be cuffed and led past the men flanking the doorway. He raised his head, trying to get a better understanding of his surroundings. They were in some kind of garage. The doors were down and locked, naturally.

            The rest of the prisoners were huddled in a small group, surrounded by more guards. Looking closely, each guard held a taser at the ready. Dean saw an additional handgun holstered to each of their hips.

            The man gestured for Dean to join the others, which he did. Off to the side stood another large man and a smaller, petite woman. Between them they held a struggling man, crying silently as he tried to break their grip on him. They seemed to hold him effortlessly, to a point where they were almost ignoring him. _Maybe I should reconsider the monster possibility,_ thought Dean.

            “Listen up!” A big, beefy guy at least a foot taller than Dean yelled at full volume. “From now on, you do what you’re told. Don’t ask questions, and don’t give anyone any shit.”

            The prisoners, sans Dean, stared open mouthed at him, shaking slightly.

            The man smiled. “You get one warning if you disobey. We will taze you if we feel it’s necessary.”

            He waved the man and woman over, and they dragged the struggling prisoner front and center between them. “However, we’ve found it more effective just to give a demonstration of what happens after your second warning.” He gestured to the struggling man like he was announcing a stage show, and stepped aside.

            Dean and the other prisoners stood by, heavily guarded, as the man and woman transformed before their eyes into claws, fur, and fangs. A collective gasp went through the group of prisoners, but Dean clenched his eyes shut. He knew what was about to happen.

            The gasps of horror weren’t enough to drown out the sounds he heard, though. The poor man’s screams coupled with a tearing sound and the spattering of blood hitting the floor made his stomach turn.

            Okay, so this was actually worse than he’d thought. Was this a werewolf pack, kidnapping drifters and runaways to gorge on their hearts without attracting notice?

            They were ordered to line up and were marched across the garage and through a door, leaving the nauseating sounds of chewing and the metallic scent of spilled blood behind them.

            The werewolves didn’t bother separating the males and females. They were un-cuffed, ordered to strip, and sent into a communal shower room with little soaps and shampoos, like they were about to cheerfully go for a dip in a hotel pool.

            Each of the prisoners showered quickly and kept their heads down. Dean could feel the unwavering gaze of the guards standing strategically throughout the shower room.

            They were given rough towels to dry off with before they were gathered into another new room, this one cold and clinical, with a few people wearing scrubs and disposable gloves.

            Right in the middle of the room, each prisoner was carefully and thoroughly examined by one of the doctors. The feel of those gloved hands poking and prodding him made Dean’s skin crawl. He was declared healthy enough, and sent aside to wait for the others to be deemed healthy. One woman wasn’t, Dean didn’t know why, and she was escorted through a separate door than the rest of them. Dean could only look on sadly.

            They were each given a bundle of clothes, much like hospital scrubs, and quickly rushed to put them on. Dean felt slightly better with some actual fabric covering his skin, even if it was just thin cotton.

            He was led to a small cell filled with other men around his age, all with his hair and skin color. A sharp nudge in his lower back ushered him inside. As the door locked behind him, he looked around. There were seven other men in this small room, most of them sitting on a sleeping mat lined up in two neat rows of four. There was no other furniture, and one wall seemed to be made of glass, but the view across was just another cell, filled with people just like them. There was a door against the back wall that led to a tiny bathroom, no tub or shower. And the constant drone of old, fluorescent lighting.

            “You can have the one over there,” said one of the men, pointing to an unoccupied mat.

             “So... what, we just sit here twiddling our thumbs?” Dean asked him.

            “Yeah, pretty much. When the buzzer goes off we have to stand in a line at the window and let people stare at us. Sometimes they take you out so the person can have a closer look. Sometimes people come back, but most don’t.”

            “Awesome,” Dean said, trying to position himself comfortably on his mat.

            He took a deep breath. First, evaluate the situation. He was with what had to be at least a few hundred civilians, kidnapped by werewolves to be sold as…what? Food for other werewolves? That seemed weird. Why would a pack charge its’ own members to eat human hearts? That didn’t make sense, unless they were selling to other packs? Anyway, it didn’t look like he’d even be getting out of this room anytime soon. He knew bulletproof glass when he saw it, and he couldn’t pick a lock with his bare hands. The floor was flawless, no loose nails or screws, nothing that could help him pick the lock in the door. It didn’t look like he’d be rescuing anyone in the near future. Not with the tight security and the number of armed guards. He figured he’d bide his time until he had a chance to make a move, any move. Not letting them know he was a hunter already gave him a slight advantage; if they did know they’d probably just kill him outright.

            They had been lined up and ogled at like lobsters in a seafood restaurant at least three times since he’d arrived, by Dean’s counting. The fourth time, he felt the attention on him and sure enough, there were two guards at the door waiting to escort him to another room. They cuffed him, and flanked him on either side as they led him down a hallway into a small, windowless room, where he was left to awkwardly stand in the center, hands still cuffed behind him.

            The woman from the other side of the glass let herself through the door. She was older but still pretty, light skin, dark hair, wearing a generic white t-shirt with jeans. Dean shifted and stood up straighter. He could at least preserve some of his dignity until he got the hell out of here.

            The woman circled him, closely viewing him from every angle, and Dean couldn’t help but fidget. She put her hand flat against his skin, feeling the muscles of his arms and chest. Dean wanted to shake her off, but couldn’t seem to make himself move. His body felt frozen in place.

            “I’ve changed my mind,” she declared, rushing back through the door.

            _Well fuck you too, lady,_ Dean thought.

            He was quickly escorted back to the cell, silently thanking the universe for saving him from that unwavering gaze.

            The next time they were told to line up, Dean kept his eyes on his feet. There was only so much he could deal with. Only when the man through the window began to turn away did he dare to look up.

            Their eyes met, and Dean refused to look away. Let this tall pretty boy look away first. He would have that victory.

            And he did. The man broke eye contact first, and the corners of Dean’s mouth lifted the tiniest fraction of an inch.

            But almost immediately the guards were back at the cell door, waiting with cuffs in hand to take him back to the little room.

            He stood there, and let the anger build up. This was messed up, even for monsters. They had created the perfect method to sell human beings like livestock, even turned it into an efficient business practice. It was sick.

            When the guy came through the door, Dean got a better look at him. He was really tall, at least a head taller than Dean. He had shaggy brown hair and dimples, and would have seemed like a rather harmless guy if not for the obvious muscle beneath the flannel shirt he wore, not to mention the unseemly circumstances of their meeting.

            The guy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, just staring at Dean for a moment.

            “Do you know what this place is?” he was asked.

            “Disney World?,” he asked, with an indifferent shrug.

            “It’s called the Market,” the guy calmly explained. “It’s basically a grocery store for supernatural creatures that feed on humans.” The man took a few steps closer, and Dean fought the instinct to take a step backwards.

            “So, what are you, then?” he asked, trying to regain his verbal footing.

            “I’m an incubus.” A warm, heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and their eyes met once more. “And I do feed on people, yeah, but I don’t actually eat them. I feed on sex.”

            Dean’s eyes widened as he silently wished he could sink down into the floor. “ _Jesus Christ. The shit I put up with,”_ he thought. Thankfully, the hand was removed from his shoulder.

            “So I’m making you an offer. You can come with me and we’ll have sex once or twice a month. I won’t force you, and I won’t bother you any more than that, I swear. Or you can stay here and be bought by something that actually will eat you. But it’s your choice.”

            “So, get eaten or get fucked? Wow, that’s a real generous offer ya got there,” Dean replied as sarcastically as he could manage.

            “Is that a yes, or a no?” The guy waited patiently, eyes searching Dean’s face.

            Dean gritted his teeth. He’d given up on finding a way to escape from this place. They were too well guarded and there were too many people who could get hurt. But he might have a chance with this guy. One-on-one with a monster he could handle.

            “Fine,” he hissed out, trying to look anywhere but at the man standing in front of him. The man who slowly smiled at him.

            “Great.” The guy opened the door and stepped through, calling out, “I’m going to take him,” as he shut the door behind him.

            Sometime later, the door opened once more to reveal a guard with a fold-out chair and a syringe. He was made to sit, and the last thing he felt was the needle sliding into his arm as he went under.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story (versus Wrapped in Honey), I wanted to paint the picture of a little scarier Sam, more monster-like, and a more surly, hunter-like Dean. I wanted the dynamic between them to be a little more tense. Hopefully this chapter starts to set that up a bit.

             They loaded the man into his passenger seat like a piece of luggage, one guy for his feet, and one for arms and head. The guy was clearly out cold, but Sam was still offered a shiny pair of metallic handcuffs to secure him to the side of the door. He declined, but threw the cuffs and their key into his glove box in case he needed them later.

            The man appeared to be sleeping peacefully, slumped down in the seat, but Sam knew that wasn’t the case. He’d bought the man as easily as a pack of gum, and he intended on keeping him. Sam could never bring himself to kill the poor guy, but he couldn’t exactly ever let him go either. He knew too much about the supernatural community, and if he blabbed to anyone who took him seriously….no, it would be better to keep him safely hidden away.

            He parked in the garage connected to the house and carefully unbuckled his passenger, throwing the man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The guy didn’t even stir.    

            He gently deposited the man on the couch and threw a blanket over him for good measure. He should be out for at least another hour or so.

            He reached into his pocket to get the directions he’d been given. They were to a spell similar to the one at the Market, designed to keep his purchase under control.

            While the man slept off the drugs, Sam used the time to set up the spell. Witchcraft wasn’t really his thing, but he assumed it worked when a burst of light swept through the house. Mr. Alcott had assured him the spell would keep the man from leaving, and keep him from hurting himself or Sam. All Sam could do was hope it worked. 

            When the man finally appeared to be gaining consciousness, Sam left a glass of water on the table beside him, taking a seat to the side of the couch.

            “Easy. Just take your time,” he told the man when he sluggishly stirred. He’d intended it to reassure the man, but apparently it did the exact opposite. The blanket was flung to the other side of the couch and the man quickly sat up, alert eyes staring at him through the grogginess left from the drugs.

            “Sorry about the drugs, but the other option was to ship you in a giant box, which sounded kind of uncomfortable. Um…water?” The man was staring at him blankly, but he took the glass, sipping gingerly at the water, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam.

            “They gave me a spell that shouldn’t allow you to leave, if you were wondering about the uh….lack of security.” The man only glared at him from his position on the couch.

            “What’s your name?” Sam asked.

            “Like you give a shit,” the man spat out, his words slurring a bit from the fog still in his head.

            “I’m Sam Wesson. I figure since we’ll be living together, you should at least know my name.”

            “Oh, is that what we’ll be doing?” He laughed humorlessly. “We’re gonna play house?” The man pushed himself to a standing position, but seemed to wobble on his feet.

            Sam rushed forward to steady him, just in time for the man to all but collapse on top of him. Sam gripped him from behind in a bear hug, trying to keep him upright.

            He felt the man tense up and regain his balance, and almost expected a shove before he remembered the spell. Testing it out, he tightened his grip a bit.

            “Get off me.” The man’s hands were bunched into tight fists, but he couldn’t seem to apply any pressure against the arms wrapped around him.

            Releasing one arm, Sam ran his hand over the man’s chest, feeling the defined muscles under the cheap cotton and letting his hand rest just below the man’s belly button. Sam could hear the man’s heart race.

            “Like I said earlier, I won’t ever force you,” Sam said softly, head resting on the man’s shoulder. Slowly, he released his hold, withdrawing uncertainly, as he didn’t want the man to go crumpling to the floor.

            “Sorry about the lack of personal space. I needed to see if that part of the spell worked, if I had to worry about you attacking me. So I’m guessing you’re starving by now,” Sam said as the man glared daggers at him. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just made pasta. Sound good?”

            Sam led the reluctant man into the kitchen, where two places were already set. He pulled a chair out for him and gathered everything together.

            They ate in silence, tension filling the air, but at least the food was good.

            As Sam loaded up the dishwasher, the man spoke up behind him.

            “Dean Winchester.” He must have worn a puzzled expression, because the man clarified. “My name. It’s Dean Winchester.” Sam brightened.

            “Nice to meet you, Dean.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be a bit sporadic. I have the next two chapters written, but I'm still figuring out where I want to go with this story. I have several future scenes and scenarios in mind though. So we'll see how this goes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubious consent in this chapter.

           They sat together at the kitchen table, each avoiding the other’s eyes. Sam cleared his throat.

           “So, you’re probably wondering how this is going to work,” Sam started. He kept his hands softly folded on the table where Dean could see them, posture relaxed. “I want you to make yourself at home here. You can’t leave, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. I have tons of books, movies….I even have Netflix for anything I don’t have on DVD.”

            Dean merely stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. A deep sigh went through his entire body, and he stood, making his way into the living room where he’d spotted a fully stocked bar.

            “Make myself at home, huh?” Dean asked as he poured himself a generous shot of whiskey and downed it in one go. Sam watched him like a human watches an animal, curious to see what it would do. “Then can we cut the bullshit?” He poured himself another shot.

            “What do you mean?” Sam replied, moving from the table towards the bar, slowly, so as not to startle him.

            “I mean,” He gulped down more whiskey. “Where’s your bedroom? I’d rather get this over with. Or would you rather just bend me over the couch?” He wouldn’t look at him, but Sam still saw the haunted expression on Dean’s face.

            Dean had already realized that he couldn’t attack Sam. He’d tried with all his being when he’d felt the man’s arms wrap around him earlier. He kept telling his arms to move, his legs to kick, but it was like his body had shut down. He could clench his fists, but that was about it.

            He felt there was no use putting off the inevitable. Sam had bought him for one reason, and he’d rather play it off as his own suggestion than remind himself of how powerless he really was against Sam.

            A hand gently pulled the glass away from him, setting it back on the bar.

            “Dean, I think you’re misunderstanding this.” He was close enough that he could feel Sam’s breath on his skin.

            “No, I think you’ve made it pretty clear what I’m here for.”

            “Well….yeah, but…” Sam began.

            He sighed, grasping Dean’s hands within his own and stringing him along limply back to the couch, where he settled firmly across from him, using the coffee table as a makeshift seat, still not releasing Dean’s hands.

                        “Dean, can you look at me?” Sam asked.

            Dean met his eyes with an irritated expression, pulling at his hands like a petulant child. “Don’t talk to me like I’m four,” he said bluntly.

            Sam laughed, finally releasing his hands and making a placating gesture. “Sorry. I’m used to using kid gloves when it comes to dealing with humans. You guys scare easy sometimes.”

            “Well, knock it off,” Dean scolded. “And tell me what I apparently “misunderstood.””

            Sam placed one palm over Dean’s knee. His voice was soft, intimate. “I don’t feed on just the act of sex, Dean. It’s part of why I needed your agreement to come with me. I feed on my partner’s…..appreciation for the act of sex, their enjoyment.”

            “So if your partner doesn’t enjoy it…?”

            “…then I can’t feed.” Sam finished.

            “Huh.” He sat there. This was certainly a twist.

            “So what I’m saying is just relax, Dean. Let me take care of you for a while. Forget about everything and just…enjoy yourself for a minute.” The words were punctuated with Sam’s fingers forming slow, rhythmic circles on Dean’s legs.

            “…I wanted to wait, give you some time to adjust. But frankly, I’m starving.” Sam wasn’t kidding. As Dean looked up, he was a little afraid of the glint in Sam’s eyes, the animalistic hunger lurking beneath them. He leaned back on the couch a little, trying to put some distance between them. But Sam’s body followed his. Apparently, this was happening whether he was into it or not, despite Sam’s earlier assurances.

            Sam slowly moved in to breathe against Dean’s neck, feeling accomplished when Dean didn’t move away. But his body was tense, muscles poised to fight him, though Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to.

            Soft hands framed his face, tilting his chin up just a little.

            “Can I kiss you?” Sam asked, running light fingers through his hair, the back of his neck. Uncertainly, Dean nodded, and immediately Sam’s lips met his, his tongue gently pushing past Dean’s lips. The kiss was surprisingly slow and sensual. Sam was gentle, delicate even. He left Dean pliant and sated.

            He withdrew, murmuring, “My saliva acts as an aphrodisiac. I thought it would help you relax.”

            _So you tell me after you kiss me,_ Dean thought, as the effects started to sink in. He was suddenly a lot more interested, despite his earlier hesitation.

            Sam nudged the coffee table aside, kneeling down before Dean’s knees.

            “I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, I promise. You say stop, I’ll stop, no matter how hungry I am.” Brown eyes met Dean’s green ones, and he found himself nodding reluctantly.

            “So Dean…”

            Sam palmed him through thin cotton, making Dean gasp as Sam traced Dean’s outline with his fingertips.

            “Will you let me make you feel good?” Sam asked, applying the slightest bit more pressure beneath his palm. He worked his way back up to nibble lightly on Dean’s bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth.

            When he felt Dean nod, he couldn’t help the delighted smile that spread across his lips.

            Sam worked quickly to free Dean’s hips from the skimpy cotton pants. He hadn’t been given any boxers at the Market.

            Sam hastily took him in his mouth, sealing his lips over the head and licking loose circles with his tongue while Dean panted.

            He felt Dean buck up beneath him, and Sam’s smile grew wider. This is exactly what he needed.

            He sped things up, preparing himself when Dean cried out softly and clutched the couch cushion beneath him, knuckles turning white.

            After, Sam licked his lips, tucking Dean neatly back into his pants.

            Dean just lie there like dead weight, breathing heavy, eyes closed.

            Sam, however, felt rejuvenated. He let Dean rest a while, using the time to finish cleaning up from dinner. He plopped on the couch to watch some tv, keeping the volume low so he wouldn’t disturb Dean’s sleep.

            Around 11:00pm, Sam tried to wake him.

            “Dean!” He called loudly. “Are you ready for bed?”

            Dean looked around him like a high-schooler on a Monday morning, still groggy. But Sam saw on his face the moment he realized where he was, all that had happened. He looked a bit traumatized.

            “You okay?” Sam asked quietly, turning off the TV.

            “I’m fine,” Dean swore, avoiding eye contact as usual. “You fed on me, right? Is that why I passed out like that?”

            “Yeah,” Sam replied. “Your body isn’t used to it yet. But it’ll start to affect you less after a few times.”

_“A few times of you raping me,”_ Dean thought. He’d said yes, sure, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He was a prisoner there, bought and sold like a piece of furniture. And Sam had drugged him, for Christ’s sake.

            “Would you like to see your room?” Sam asked. “I think I’m gonna get ready for bed in a few anyway.”

            “Yeah, I guess,” said Dean, following Sam up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. The bedroom Sam showed him was fairly large, with deep red walls and pristine wooden furniture. He could see the deep woods outside through the large bay window. Attached was a bathroom with a walk-in shower, brand new tile, and linen closet. All in all, the place was nicer than anywhere Dean had ever stayed. A golden cage.

            “I hope it’s okay. I’m gonna go get ready for bed,” Sam said. “My room’s just next door if you need anything. And feel free to use whatever you find in the house. Read whatever, watch TV…you know.”

            Sam smiled softly. “Good night, Dean.” Dean said nothing, and Sam’s smile drooped a little as he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos you've all left on this work. I really appreciate it, and I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing.


	5. Chapter 5

            Dean sat on the bed. Finally, he was alone. Finally, no one was watching him. Finally, he could relax, at least a little bit.

            He had to get out of here, get to Bobby’s or another safe place and get this whole operation shut down.

            He heard Sam shuffling next door, the sound of drawers opening and closing, a toilet flushing. He peaked out from behind his door, cringing as it squeaked a little. Watched as the light shining from beneath Sam’s door went black.

            He tip-toed back to “his” room, sat back on the bed, and waited.

           

* * *

 

            Dean waited two hours to be sure Sam was asleep. He crept through the darkened hallway back down the stairs, and went right for the front door. He opened it quietly, and began to step through.

            But it was like he ran face first into a wall. There was nothing in the doorway, nothing but air, but Dean couldn’t go through. He put his palm out flat, in the middle of the air, and it was like he hit a solid object. He tried near the floor. Same thing. He couldn’t get a single inch past the invisible barrier.

            He closed the door, not quite frustrated yet. He’d never tested the security at the Market, but he’d heard there was a spell in place and that people had tried, and failed, to escape. He figured that was it.

            Next he went to the windows. He picked the first one next to the front door, and went in order from there. Every single one had the invisible barrier in place. He could open them, lock and unlock them, even take the screens out, but every time he tried to step through, he hit that wall, just like at the door.

            He went looking for a phone next. He searched everywhere; there were holes in the wall in the kitchen where an old dial phone had clearly been removed. He wondered if that was for his benefit, or if it had been done before Sam decided to buy himself a person.

            No computer either. No tablets, no gaming systems, nothing. Nothing he could use to contact the outside world, anyway.

            He went back to the front door, looking out. All he saw was trees in every direction, and what looked like a private dirt road. Where the hell had Sam taken him? There were no lights from other nearby houses and no cars went by on the quiet little road. Even if Dean started screaming, there was no one close enough to hear him.

            Now he was frustrated. He went to the kitchen, checking the drawers for silver. There was nothing. He didn’t even know if silver would work on an incubus, but he had to try something.

            Lastly, he went for the biggest, sharpest butcher knife he could find, and headed back upstairs to Sam’s bedroom. 

            He carefully opened the door and stepped through, only the glowing light from the little nightlight in the hallway illuminating his view.

            Sam looked peaceful in his bed, still, with his hands curled up near his face. His breathing was deep and relaxed.

            Dean didn’t like this. Attacking someone in their sleep wasn’t really his style. But he had no weapons, no leverage, and no real knowledge on incubi. All he could do was hope the knife would pose enough of a threat that he could convince Sam to undo the spell so he could get the hell out of there.

            He approached slowly and quietly, gripping the knife the way his father taught him, his footsteps light. He gently coaxed the covers down Sam’s body, baring his throat and upper body. But when he went to bring the knife to Sam’s throat, to wake him and demand to be released, he found he couldn’t move. He could back up, move in any other way, but the moment he decided to approach Sam with the knife, he was paralyzed.

            Sam chose that moment to stir from his sleep, with Dean hovering over him, knife poised to strike.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort-of-not-really-dubious-consent in this chapter? Like Dean says yes but can he really say yes in this situation?

 

            Sam startled at first, but then a deep sigh went throughout his body, his eyes downcast.

            “Give me the knife, Dean,” he said, holding out his hand.

            Dean froze. He apparently couldn’t use the knife to hurt Sam, but having it certainly made him feel better than not having it.

            Sam slowly pushed the covers further down, drawing his body up from the bed to stand next to Dean’s. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

            Dean couldn’t move. It seemed like every time Sam got close and Dean felt threatened, he couldn’t make his body even twitch, no matter how hard he tried. He hated that fucking spell.

            Sam leaned in close, bending down to his ear.

            “I’ll walk you back to your room.” He took the knife from Dean’s hand, placing it on the nightstand, the other hand never moving from Dean’s shoulder. He nudged Dean toward the door, pushing him a little, and Dean reluctantly followed suit.

            When they got to the doorway of the room, Sam stopped. “You should get some sleep,” he said quietly. Dean said nothing, just climbed into bed, pulled the covers up, and turned his back. Sam turned out the lights.

            This time, when the door shut, there was the distinctive click of a lock sliding into place.

* * *

 

           Sam was distraught. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but Dean was...challenging. He wasn’t scared like Sam thought a human in his situation would be. Instead, he was surly, resourceful, and a little belligerent. Dean showed more anger than fear. And that stirred something in Sam, a begrudging admiration for the man that he hadn’t expected. But it also forced him to be colder, more commanding, and to keep a closer eye on the human.

            Like the stunt with the knife. He hadn’t expected that kind of resolve in a human. He saw in Dean’s eyes that had it not been for the spell, he would have awoken with a knife to his throat. Granted, a regular knife couldn’t really do much to him, but it was the principle of the matter. He would be living with a man who wanted him dead, who would try and kill him if he had the opportunity, if it would guarantee his own escape.

            He’d have to be more careful than he’d ever been. This would be a slippery slope, but Sam had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

* * *

 

            Dean woke to the smell of bacon. Confused, he sat up slowly, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. 10 o’clock. He left the soft sheets of the bed and tried the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Sam must have unlocked it while he slept.

            Warily, he made his way downstairs to find Sam in the kitchen, struggling to cook bacon, eggs, and toast all at the same time.

            “Morning,” Sam glanced up at him as he flipped some bacon. “There’s coffee. Cream and sugar is on the table.”

            Dean grabbed the empty mug next to the pot, poured himself some coffee, and sat down. There was silence except for the sizzling from the pan.

            Sam finished up with the cooking, placing the pans on the table next to the silverware and empty plates. He sat down.

            “I thought you’d like a real breakfast. I’d imagine they didn’t feed you too well at the Market.”

            “Thanks,” Dean said. He helped himself to some eggs and bacon while Sam plopped down across from him.

            “So.We need to talk about last night.” Dean’s fork froze on its way to his mouth.

            “What about it?” Dean asked quietly.

            “First off, I’m not mad. I understand your frustration. And I don’t blame you for trying to find a way to escape. It’s only natural. But the sooner you accept your situation the easier it will be for you to adjust.”

            Sam looked him dead in the eye. “You can’t kill me, Dean. You probably can’t even hurt me. Guns and knives won’t kill me, fire just tickles, and you don’t have the strength against me for anything else. I’m not human. And while I told you yesterday I wouldn’t hurt you, I won’t have you wandering around while I’m sleeping, looking for ways to hurt or kill me. So I want something from you. A promise.”

            Dean looked at him incredulously. “What kind of promise?”

            “I want you to stop looking for ways to attack me. The spell won’t let you, anyway. And in return, I’ll be able to get you anything you want or need without worrying about my own safety.” His voice softened. “I want you to be happy here, or at least as happy as you can be. I don’t want to have to lock you in your room every night, or threaten you into being compliant. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Please don’t make me.”

            The sugarcoated threat didn’t fool Dean. He heard it loud and clear: play house nicely with me, or face the consequences. He didn’t need Sam to remind him how powerless he was. He had no weapons, couldn’t attack him anyway, and didn’t even know what killed an incubus in the first place. He was stuck.

            “Okay.”

            “Okay….what?”

            “Okay, I won’t try and attack you. You don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt you. Seems fair enough.”

            “Great. I’m glad we can come to an understanding,” Sam said.

            “But you can’t expect me to just sit here and play whore, either. I won’t attack you, but you bet your ass I’m gonna find a way out of here sooner or later.”

            Sam smiled sadly. “I admire your perseverance.”

            Dean made a face, and returned to his food. Sam did the same. They ate the rest of their meal in an almost comfortable silence.

* * *

           After breakfast, Sam announced he was going out. “You’ll need clothes,” he said. “Any preferences?” Dean just asked for simple things; boxers, jeans, and t-shirts. He wrote his sizes down on a piece of paper and handed it over to Sam.

           “Make yourself at home while I’m gone. You can do whatever you want.” He paused at the doorway to the front door, looking back.

           “I’m sorry, this is awkward...”

            The way Dean’s eyes immediately grew void of all emotion told Sam that he knew exactly what was so awkward.

            “It’s Saturday. I have to work on Monday. I…I need to feed before that.”

            Dean’s face was blank. “You fed yesterday.”

            “Yesterday I had to…persuade you. It was more like a snack than an actual meal.”

            “Oh,” Dean said quietly.

            “You just tell me when you’re ready, ok?” And with that, Sam was out the door.

            Dean spent the time while Sam was away pacing around his boundaries, trying every door and window for a second time. The invisible barrier was still in place. He was still trapped here with a man-eating monster.

            When he heard the car in the driveway, Dean rushed to the couch and flipped the TV on, trying to look like he’d been there a while.

            He watched as Sam struggled to get through the door, several bags in hand. He didn’t offer to help.

            Sam placed the bags on the table, smiling at Dean as he did so. “Let me know if anything doesn’t fit, or if you don’t like it,” he said.

            Dean grabbed the bags and headed to “his” room. He was eager to get out of the scratchy hospital scrubs he’d been given at the Market.

            Sam left him alone for most of the afternoon, giving him the time to shave, shower, and change into his new clothes. He called upstairs when it was time for dinner, pleased to see that the new clothes fit Dean well, suited him even. The jeans hugged his body in all the right places, and the t-shirt left little to the imagination. Sam recalled the hard, defined muscles he’d felt through the fabric the day before. He was looking forward to seeing them up close.

            They ate their meal in almost companionable silence, Dean even helping him load the dishwasher afterwards. It seemed that new clothes and some time to himself had put him in a better mood. Sam didn’t blame him. He had a lot to adjust to right now, and Sam wanted to make it as easy for him as possible.

            After dinner, Sam suggested they have a few beers and watch a movie; Dean agreed. They chose a generic comedy, and were even able to laugh together a few times as a light buzz from the beers set in.

            As the movie ended, Dean cleared his throat. “Um…we could…you know…tonight.”

            Sam glanced at him, questioning. “Are you sure? We could wait till tomorrow.”

            Dean laughed humorlessly. “I’d rather get it over with now.” He was nervous, looking everywhere but at Sam and fiddling with his beer.

            “Okay.” Sam smiled at him gently, sliding toward him across the couch. He grasped Deans chin lightly, lifting his gaze to meet his own. “I won’t hurt you. I swear. You tell me what’s okay and what’s not. I’ll stop the second you say so.”

            Dean nodded jerkily as Sam’s hand left his jaw. “So how do you want to do this?”

            Sam smiled in slight amusement. “That’s not really how this works.” He clasped the back of Dean’s neck, placing a soft kiss against his lips. Dean took a second but eventually responded, opening his mouth and letting Sam in.

            Sam deepened the kiss, slipping his arm around Dean’s waist and softly stroking his hair. He didn’t want to be too aggressive, to scare him off, but he needed to show Dean that this could work out, that he could enjoy himself despite the shitty situation he was in.

            To Sam’s surprise, Dean scooted closer on the couch. Sam felt Dean’s hands kind of awkwardly hovering, and he grasped them in his own, placing Dean’s hands around his waist. He hesitated for a moment, but soon enough Sam felt Dean gripping at the back of his shirt, nails briefly scraping his skin through the fabric.

            Dean broke the kiss, meeting his eyes for once. “You are a good kisser, I’ll give you that.”

            “So are you.” Sam smirked, moving in to trace little bites down Dean’s neck, sucking lightly at the nape.

            “What do you say we take this upstairs?” Sam asked, coaxing him off of the couch.

            “Okay.” Dean was acting a bit shy again, so Sam pulled him close, kissing him deeply once more. He trailed his hands below Dean’s waist, toying with the waistband of his jeans.

            Without warning, Sam scooped him up, Dean letting out a surprised noise as his legs wrapped around Sam’s waist so he wouldn’t fall.

            Sam carried him to the bedroom like that, like an adult carries a child, not even struggling on the stairs. It was a little unnerving, an unpleasant reminder that Sam wasn’t human. But it was also kind of hot.

            Sam deposited him on the bed, crawling on top of him and nudging his shirt up. Dean obliged, lifting his arms and tossing the shirt out of the way.

            “So, what do you want?” Sam asked between kisses. “Do you want me to fuck you? Or do you want to fuck me?”

            Dean withdrew, a confused look on his face. “I didn’t think that was allowed.”

             Sam met his eyes. “Of course it is. Whatever you like.”

             He took Dean’s nipple between his fingers. Sensing that Dean would be more comfortable on the giving end, he said, “Why? Would you like that? To just take me right now?”

             Dean moaned in response as Sam replaced his fingers with his mouth, licking softly. He worked Dean’s nipples with his hands and his tongue for a while, until Dean was panting and moaning beneath him.

             Tired of waiting, Dean pulled Sam’s shirt above his head, tossing it over his shoulder. Sam responded by reaching for Dean’s belt, inching his pants and boxers down slowly as he trailed kisses over his stomach, to his hips, and below.  

             Sam watched Dean’s face as he bobbed his head, watched him suck in short, hitched breaths and bite his bottom lip.

             Dean was beautiful like this, coming undone and without inhibitions. Sam had known he could please him, grateful that Dean was finally giving him the chance.

             He paused to rid himself of his own pants, reaching in the bedside drawer for lube, handing it to Dean, who looked a little unsure again with the brief lack of stimulation.

             Sam tried to reassure him, stretching out next to him and waiting patiently, arms resting behind his head. Dean hurried it up, wrapping Sam’s legs over his shoulders and sinking in slowly.

             Sam gasped as he felt Dean’s hand wrap around him as he thrust. He hadn’t been expecting the reciprocation, but it was certainly a nice surprise. They worked each other slowly, building up the pleasure till they both couldn’t stand it.

             Dean came with a shout, Sam right behind him.

             They lie there for a minute, coming back to reality, before Sam disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned with a damp towel, Dean was out cold. He gently cleaned them both off, crawling back into bed and pulling a cover on top of them. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments. It's really encouraging to know that people are actually enjoying this story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a little while. Life has been taking priority, filled up with photoshoots and traveling. But I promise I'll keep going with this story =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again everyone for all the kudos and comments. It really motivates me to keep this going.

            When Sam awoke, Dean was gone. He groggily gathered up his clothes from the floor, changing into some sweatpants and a t-shirt, then headed downstairs.

            He found Dean on the couch, several drinks in. Sam sat down beside him, unsure of what to do or say.

            After a few moments of silence, Dean spoke up. “Sam?” Sam turned to face him. “How long are you going to keep me here?” Sam dropped his eyes, opened and closed his mouth, and looked up again. “I don’t know.”

            Dean poured himself another drink. “So, then, this is it? We fuck when you’re hungry and then pretend I’m not here against my will?”

            Sam gently took the glass from Dean’s hand, downing the brown liquid in one go. “I’m sorry.”

            “Yeah,” Dean said bitterly. There wasn’t much else to say.

            They went back to their respective rooms to get some sleep.

            In the morning, Sam handed him a cup of coffee, which he downed quickly, pouring himself another. He’d slept for hours, but felt like he’d barely slept at all.

            “You ok?” Sam asked him, eyeing his third cup.

            “Tired,” Dean replied.

            “That’s normal,” Sam reassured him.

            “What other side effects are there?” he asked.

            “None, really,” Sam told him. “As long as you have time to recover. After a few times, you shouldn’t feel much of anything.”

            “And what would happen if you didn’t give me time to recover?” Dean asked him, challenging.

            “You’d grow very weak, and eventually die,” Sam told him plainly.

 _Lovely,_ Dean thought.

            They had a quick, simple breakfast. The atmosphere was awkward. Dean didn’t know how to act around a basic stranger he’d had rigorous sex with the night before. The man who technically owned him, who was keeping him prisoner.

            He escaped to his room for a while, but there wasn’t really anything to do up there but read, and that had never been his thing.

            He wandered back downstairs, finding Sam on the bench press in the spare room he assumed was meant to be an office. He was shirtless, and Dean would be lying if he said his jaw didn’t drop a bit. He’d been up close and personal with Sam the night before, but he’d been apprehensive as well, distracted. He took a second now to fully appreciate the taller man, his refined chest and toned arms, the slight sheen of sweat on his chiseled body. The man was gorgeous.

            The sound of Sam clearing his throat brought him back to Earth, and he quickly stammered out an excuse, getting the hell out of there as quickly as he could. He didn’t catch the embarrassed smile or the slight blush on the other man’s cheeks.

            Dean killed most of the afternoon watching mindless TV, trying to fill his brain with anything but thoughts of how trapped he was, or even worse, the image of Sam working out that seemed to be imprinted on his brain.

            They had a late dinner, and spent the rest of the evening with another movie. All in all, it was pretty relaxing. Dean could almost forget that he wasn’t there by choice. Almost.

            The following day was Monday, and Sam had already left by the time Dean got up. As he sipped his coffee, he read the note left for him on the table:

_I’ll be back around 5:30._

_Make yourself at home._

_Sam_

            When he finished the coffee and the caffeine started to do its job, he stood up, leaving the mug in the sink.

            “Alright you son of a bitch.” He began to search the entire house for anything he could use to his advantage. A way to break that fucking spell would be preferable, but he’d take anything he could get at this point.

            He went through every drawer, looked under the beds, opened every box, and found nothing on the spell. If there was anything, Sam had hidden it well or taken it with him.

            He did learn a lot about Sam, though. The guy was a neat freak. And kind of a nerd. He had mountains and mountains of books. Lots of classics, but also a lot of more academic subjects, psychology, anthropology, art history, law. Nothing hidden in the books. Just old, crumpled bookmarks and dust. He did, however, find a set of steel handcuffs in the bedside table, along with the lube and a few other toys. It didn’t surprise him, due to Sam’s nature, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about potentially using them.

            He went downstairs to explore the living room. He began with the shelves lining the walls. Sam had a huge collection of music and DVD’s, entire TV series arranged in alphabetical order. At least he wouldn’t get bored here.

            Lastly, Deans spent about an hour screaming out of various windows, hoping someone would hear him despite the apparent lack of neighbors. No one did.

            By the time Sam returned at 5:30, Dean had everything back in its’ proper place. Sam would never know he’d snooped around.

            Dean spent the first few days while Sam was at work re-checking every nook and cranny, while he brainstormed ideas on how to get out of there. None were forthcoming.

            They spent evenings and weekends mostly watching TV, Sam reading various novels while Dean found new movies to watch.

            Gradually, Dean began to help Sam in the kitchen for dinner. Sam tended to just microwave everything, and it made Dean’s taste buds shrivel up just to think about it. He occupied himself in the late afternoons making elaborate dishes to eat when Sam got home. Sam was more than willing to let Dean take over, pleased to learn he was a great cook.

            By the second week, Dean had ceased his fruitless searching of the house. There was nothing here that was going to help him. He’d just have to wait for an opportunity to present itself so he could escape.

            The books and DVDs kept him entertained for a while, but he soon began to grow restless.

            And he wasn’t the only one. As time passed, Sam became more agitated, a little irritable. He wasn’t looking so hot, either.

            Dean knew Sam would _ask_ soon, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Not that the sex hadn’t been great the last time. On the contrary, it had been fantastic. But he was there for one reason only, and if he didn’t put out, didn’t fulfill his obligation, Sam would send him back to the Market, where some other monster would scoop him up. At least Sam didn’t want to literally eat him. That was a plus.

            Sure enough, during dinner at the end of the second week, while Dean was gorging on some delicious garlic mashed potatoes, Sam suddenly announced, “I need to feed.”

            Dean froze, and nodded tensely. He’d basically just been ordered to put out.

            “Within the next couple days,” Sam said, avoiding his eyes. “You just tell me when.”

            Dean avoided Sam the rest of the evening, opting to stay in his room. But it wouldn’t do him any good to avoid it. At least Sam had said that Dean was the one who had the say in when and what they did. Sam was a sex demon, a creature that fed on his partner’s sexual pleasure. Maybe Dean could use that to his own advantage, give him a little bit of control in the situation.

            So, the next day, after dinner, Dean surprised Sam with an enthusiastic kiss. He cornered the man against the counter, trapping him with his hands on either side. They broke apart, and Dean licked his lips.

            Sam was smiling. “I guess that means tonight?”

            Dean kissed him again, dosing himself up with more of Sam’s saliva.

“What do you say I bend you over the couch and just take you, make you beg me to let you cum?”

“I’d ask what we’re still doing in the kitchen?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick, short little update this time.

                Dean hadn’t expected Sam to go for it. He was more than surprised. But there Sam was, heading for the living room, unbuckling his pants as he walked.

            Dean just stood there in the kitchen, unsure of what to do. “I didn’t think…I don’t want to hurt you,” he told him, trailing behind.

            “You won’t,” Sam assured him. “Just go for it. I can feel how turned on you are just thinking about it.” He pushed his pants and boxers down to his knees, bending over the couch.

            Still Dean hesitated, but Sam met his eyes with a smile. There was heat in his gaze. “Come on. Fuck me. I know you want to.”

            Dean’s cock stirred at the challenge, tenting his pants. Without preamble, he pushed his pants and underwear down, spitting vigorously into his hands and slathering it on his dick. Sam was smiling while he waited patiently.

            When he was as slicked up as possible, Dean began to gently push into Sam.

            Sam groaned a little as Dean seated himself inside, gritting his teeth. It hurt, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Besides, he could feel how turned on Dean was. He soaked it all up, the burning hunger beginning to lose a bit of its edge already.

            “Oh, fuck,” Dean moaned. Sam was warm and tight around him. He felt incredible. “You okay?”

            Sam pushed back in reply, shoving Dean in as deep as he could go. “Just fuck me already.”

            So Dean did. He fucked Sam hard and fast, shoving in brutally as Sam’s hips we forced into the side of the couch again and again. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, only to feel Dean’s fingers twist through his hair, forcing his head back down and holding him there. Dean went wild, his thrusts doubling in earnest, actually hurting Sam a little this time. But Sam didn’t throw him off. He felt mixed emotions coming from Dean. He was turned on, yes, more than Sam had ever felt the man before, but he was angry, too. Dean let out a sharp animalistic grunt with each thrust, digging his fingers into Sam’s skull and keeping hold on his hips with an iron grip.

            Sam was pinned down fast, forced to take it. He hadn’t felt this turned on in a long time. He relinquished his death grip on the cushions of the couch, reaching for his cock and stroking it roughly, coming with a shout.

            Behind him, Dean came too, so hard he was silent, his muscles clenching up and relaxing again with his release.

            Dean slipped out slowly, turning away and reaching for some tissues while Sam righted himself. He pulled his pants up quickly, determined to just take a shower and change clothes anyway, when he noticed Dean’s face. There were tear tracks running down it. Dean hastened to wipe them away, turning for the kitchen and throwing out the used tissues. Sam didn’t know what to do. Why was Dean crying? Well, he had plenty of reasons to be crying, Sam reasoned. It was just a matter of what Sam was supposed to do about it.

            He hovered in the living room, shifting from foot to foot. The silence was deafening.

            “…Are you okay?” Sam asked hesitantly.

            “I’m fine,” Dean assured him gruffly, hastening to his bedroom, leaving Sam standing alone in the living room, feeling like the worst possible excuse for a person.

            They didn’t talk about it, but Sam did everything he could to make it up to Dean, bringing him extra magazines home at the end of the day, getting unique and rare ingredients for Dean to cook with, and jumping up at every opportunity to do all the laundry or wash the dishes.

            The days began to blend together, and they fell into a regular rhythm of daily life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that school has started up again (I'm a photography major), I won't have as much time to write anymore. But I promise I'm fully invested in this story, and I have a few things planned out that I'm really looking forward to putting on paper (or screen, in this case.) Updates will just be a little erratic.
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for the kudos and comments. I'm so unbelievably glad that you're enjoying the story =)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait guys. I've been incredibly overwhelmed with school and photoshoots for various assignments, plus I've had a bit of writers block when it comes to this story, though I know the general direction it's going to go. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience.

Sam disrupted their almost comfortable life over dinner one night.

“So, Dean…” he began, bringing a piece of steak to his lips.

“What?” Dean replied warily. Sam’s tone had been filled with apprehension.

“I got asked to go to this conference thing for work.”

“Right….?” Dean coaxed him to give more details. Why did it matter what Sam had to do for work?

“It’s in California. For a week.”

“Is that far?” Dean asked. He wasn’t allowed to know where he was. Sam wouldn’t tell him.

“Far enough,” Sam replied. He didn’t want to give away too much about where they were. “I’ll have to stay in a hotel for the week.”

“So what about me?” 

“You’ll have to stay here. I’ll go grocery shopping right before I leave, and make sure you have everything you need.”

“Okay. Can you pick up that BBQ sauce I like before you go?”

They finished their dinner.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That Monday, Sam left. The goodbye was awkward. What was Dean supposed to say? “Be careful?” “Please come back, and don’t leave me here to starve to death?”

Sam felt equally awkward, and kind of rushed out the door. 

And it was quiet. 

Dean did everything to occupy himself. He watched a new movie each day. He kept up a short exercise regimen, stretching and using Sam’s weight bench. He cooked. A lot. But there was no one to eat it all. No one but him. For days on end.

The day of Sam’s return, Dean cleaned the whole house. Again. He was restless all day, pacing around the house, waiting for him.

And he didn’t come.

Sam had told him he’d be home for dinner. It was 8 o’clock. Sam was just running late, Dean surmised. He’d wrap up Sam’s dinner and leave it in the fridge for him. He sat down to watch some TV, some mindless show to distract him from the fact that Sam was late. Several hours late, Dean realized, as he checked the clock again. 12’ o’clock. 

Dean yawned. He figured he’d get some sleep, rather than continue to wait around for Sam. He changed out of his clothes and crawled into bed.

His dreams were tortured. Sam never came back. Sam was dead. He’d been in an accident. Dean would be left here to starve.

He woke to the world moving, and snapped his eyes open, lashing out at the figure who was shaking him. 

Sam let out a grunt as Dean’s fist connected with his jaw. He backed up, grasping at his face in pain.

“Sam! I’m sorry!” Dean cried. Sam laughed. “Apparently you CAN attack me, huh? Just not intentionally.”

Sam sat down on the bed and looked at Dean. “Are you alright by the way? I came in to let you know I was home and you were moaning in your sleep. And not in the good way.”

Dean nodded.

“Bad dreams?” Sam prodded. Dean nodded again. 

“What about? Do you want to talk about it?”

Hell no. Sam didn’t need to know he spent the whole night thinking about him, even in his dreams. He changed the subject.

“Where were you?” It came off accusatory. “I was…,” …worried about you. Shit. He’d been worried about Sam.

Sam softened. “My flight got delayed. There were thunderstorms…” He trailed off. 

Dean avoided Sam’s gaze. “Well don’t scare me like that. If anything happens to you, I’m still trapped here.”

Sam slipped his hand into Dean’s, grasping his chin and forcing Dean to look at him. 

“I’m sorry I worried you.” 

“You didn’t….I wasn’t…” Sam dropped his hand, the barest hint of a sad smile on his lips. “Goodnight Dean.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. I really appreciate it guys!

     On day forty-two, Sam surprised him after dinner, while they were sipping some beers, just watching TV.

     “I want to do something for you,” Sam told him out of the blue.

  
     “What do you mean?” Dean asked warily. What could Sam do for him, besides letting him go? And he was under no illusion that that would happen.

  
     Sam met Dean’s eyes, earnest. “I want to re-do the spell so you can go outside.”

     
     “W-why?” Dean asked, genuinely confused. Why would Sam let him go outside? What was in it for him? Did he expect something in return?

  
     “What do you mean why?” Sam laughed. “Because I think it’ll make you happier. It’ll give you some more room to roam, something else to do. Plus, I was thinking I could get a grill, maybe we can do burgers outside one night. You like grilling?”

  
     “I mean…yeah, I like to grill. But…” Dean trailed off.

  
     “But what?” Sam asked, pushing.

  
     “But…. why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?” Dean asked him. He was a prisoner here. He was there for one reason and one reason only, and it wasn’t to grill burgers outside. Why was Sam doing this for him? And what was the catch?

  
     Sam got a sad look on his face, frowning. He stood up, Dean’s eyes trailing after him apprehensively as he carefully sat down on the couch next to him.

  
     Sam reached towards Dean, leaving his hand palm up. Hesitantly, Dean placed his hand in the larger man’s as he took a firm but gentle grip. He was already sleeping with Sam. It couldn’t exactly get any gayer.

  
     “Dean. Look,” Sam began. “I know you’re not here by choice. I can’t do anything about that, not really.” Dean chose not to argue. Sam could let him go, that’s what he could do. But Dean was afraid what Sam would do if he pressed the issue. He’d never seen Sam mad before, never seen his monster side come out, and he certainly didn’t want to risk seeing it over an argument he knew he’d lose anyway. Sam wouldn’t be letting him go.

   
     “I know this whole situation is fucked up. I get that. But I want you to be happy here. Anything I can do to make that happen, I will. Whatever you want or need, I’ll get for you. And you’ve been good. You haven’t given me any reason not to trust you outside. We’re in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like my neighbors will see you.”

  
     Dean didn’t know how to react. He’d been good? He almost felt insulted. He was slipping, getting too comfortable here. But on the other hand, at least Sam appeared not to know about his earlier snooping around. So that was a plus.

  
     He tried to pull his hand away, but Sam tightened his grip, and he didn’t push the issue. Sam was staring at him, waiting for a reaction. He met the other man’s eyes.

  
     “Well…um…thank you. Really. It’ll be nice to go outside again.”

  
     “I don’t like the idea of you being cooped up inside all the time,” Sam told him. “You need some fresh air and a change of scenery.”

 

     “Yeah. I am getting a little stir crazy,” he admitted. Sam finally dropped his hand and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t like that touchy-feely crap. Especially not with a monster who was keeping him prisoner.

  
     “So, I’ll have to break the spell and reset it. I was thinking tomorrow.” Dean eagerly agreed. He tried to ignore the desperation he was thinly veiling. He NEEDED to see the outside. It had been over a month since he’d been outside this house, and truth be told, he couldn’t wait to feel the wind on his face and the grass under his feet. He just might hug a damn tree.

  
     But now Sam looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.

  
     “Um…I’ll have to lock you in your room while I break and reset the spell. No offense,” he added sheepishly.

  
     Oh. _Oh_. Sam would have to _break_ the spell. It would be inactive, for a time. No invisible barrier. This was Dean’s chance. He could make a run for it. Pick the lock or something, and get out while the spell was down. He tried not to show his excitement on his face, though he was sure Sam could hear his heart pounding with his presumably heightened senses. Dean didn’t know much about incubi other than what Sam had told him. He didn’t really know the extent of their abilities.

  
     “Yeah, okay.” He tried to sound resigned to his fate. “If it means I get to go outside, I’m fine with it. How long will it take?” How long would he have to pick the lock, get out of the house, and get to civilization before Sam realized he was gone?

 

     “Like half an hour to break the spell, then another forty-five to reset the boundaries.”

  
     “That’s not so bad,” Dean said.

     
     “Yeah. So, um…I’ll put the lock on your door in the morning. But now, I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna head in.”

  
     “G’night,” Dean told him as Sam padded off upstairs to his room. He felt a pang of guilt as Sam walked away, then felt guilty for feeling guilty. Sam was a monster. He was keeping Dean prisoner. Dean had every right and reason to try to escape. So why did he feel like shit about it?


	11. Chapter 11

Dean waited until he heard a light snoring behind Sam’s door before he even dared to think about his upcoming break out. He’d have approximately forty-five minutes to make his escape and get as far away as possible from Sam’s house, hopefully to civilization. From what he’d seen and what Sam had told him, they were in the woods in the middle of nowhere. So, he’d have to be quick and get the hell out and away while Sam was still occupied with the spell.

He lay in bed that night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He couldn’t shake the feelings of guilt he had. Here Sam was, giving him a gift, letting him, a prisoner, go outside, and Dean was about to throw it in his face with an escape attempt. Then he’d scold himself for thinking that way. Sam was a monster. He’d illegally bought a human being through some underground human trafficking ring, just to feed on them and hold them prisoner. He was holding Dean against his will, working with who knew how many other monsters to kill and eat humans or enslave them. But still, Sam was just so kind. He’d surprise Dean with expensive ingredients for meals, pay for car magazine subscriptions just so Dean would have something interesting to read. He treated Dean like a person and not like a food source. Not to mention the sex, though technically coerced, was fantastic.

Dean didn’t get much sleep that night.

When morning came, Sam was up early to install the lock while Dean sipped on his first coffee of the day. The lock was intense, not just a simple slide bar like most residential doors locked. He wouldn’t be able to pick it from the inside.

Dean waited for Sam to say he was ready. He was full of nervous, anxious energy and didn’t want to seem over eager by bringing it up himself.

“You ready?” Sam asked him after they’d both showered and eaten breakfast. It was around ten in the morning.

Dean nodded, leaving the couch and heading for his room. He tried not to pace recklessly as Sam shut the lock into place. He had half an hour at least until the spell was broken. He wouldn’t be able to pick the lock, so he had to find another way out. The only other option was the window. He opened it quietly, not wanting to alert Sam, and quickly but carefully went to work on removing the screen. He couldn’t have exactly asked Sam for tools, so it was slow going, but he got it done. Now to test the invisible barrier. He reached his hand through the window…and it kept going. He stuck his whole arm out.

He listened briefly at the door to see if he could hear what Sam was doing, but heard nothing. Forty-five minutes to go.

Dean quickly hefted a leg over the window ledge, his other leg following. He lowered himself as far down as he could go, hanging on by just the tips of his fingers. He bent his knees to absorb the impact, and let go, dropping to the ground.

He’d done it. He was outside. He felt a near hysterical sound building in his throat, and clapped his hand over his mouth. He was grinning, shaking with nervous energy. He needed to focus. He looked around.

The house was in a small clearing, surrounded by woods. A long, curving driveway led off into the distance, presumably to a road. Dean picked a path sort of parallel to it, a-ways into the trees, and began to run. It was painful, and he was pretty sure he cut his foot on something with his bare feet, but he didn’t have time to be a baby about this. He needed to get gone NOW.

He didn’t worry too much about being quiet. He doubted Sam would hear him from the house. He kept going, but still didn’t get to a road. The driveway was too damn long.

When he stopped for a quick breather, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone rustling through the trees far behind him. He bolted. It was Sam; there was no way it was anyone else.

Dean ran faster than he knew he could, but the sounds got closer and closer. He kept his gaze down at his feet to keep his footing, and to avoid stepping on any large rocks or branches. When he glanced up, Sam was there, in the clearing ahead, just standing there with a sad look on his face. Dean came to a halt, eyes darting everywhere, searching for a direction to run.

They stood there for a moment, both panting, before Sam spoke.

“Dean, please come back inside.”

He didn’t answer, merely shifted his stance for the imminent battle that was about to occur. He wasn’t going back to that house without a fight.

Sam stepped slowly closer, and Dean had to fight the instinct to take a step back. Sam reached behind him, pulling a set of handcuffs from his back pocket.

“Don’t fight me. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He began walking forward, and Dean went on the offensive, aiming low to get Sam off balance. He was smaller than Sam, and he knew he couldn’t overpower him by force.

Sam dodged, and Dean felt his huge hands wrap around him in a bear hug. Sam was trying to subdue him, not maim him, and it only made Dean more furious to be treated with kid gloves. He rammed the back of his head into Sam’s jaw and felt his grip loosen as he spun to get back on the offensive. Sam somehow managed to kick his feet out from under him, and he wrestled him to the ground. Dean kicked and squirmed, screamed and thrashed, but he felt like a child in the grip of a grown man. Sam was that powerful.

Sam flipped him over onto his stomach, pushing his face into the dirt. He put all his weight on top of him, pinning him to the ground while Dean writhed. He felt the cold, metallic line of the handcuffs around his wrists, and he went wild, screaming like an animal for Sam to let him go. Sam just lie on top of him, holding him down with his body while Dean convulsed under him.

Eventually, Dean went limp from sheer exhaustion. He realized he was crying, the dirt turning to mud on his face as it met with the salty liquid. Sam sat him up, wiping the tears and mud from his face with his sleeve, all the while muttering soothing words like “Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” It wasn’t okay. And Sam having him was the problem.

Sam tried to haul him to his feet, and Dean made himself dead weight. If Sam wanted him back in that prison of a house, he could damn well carry him there. And Sam did. Dean had been hoping for a fireman’s carry, but Sam scooped him up bridal style, being mindful of his arms, which were still pinned behind his back from the cuffs.

Dean closed his eyes and tried not to cry as Sam carried him back through the woods and into the house. He expected to be thrown on the couch, and was surprised when Sam gently deposited him on the bed in Sam’s bedroom upstairs, face first.

Sam uncuffed his hands, flipping him over once more and fastening one of the cuffs to the headboard above his head. Dean didn’t fight. What was the point? He’d already lost. Sam disappeared into the bathroom and Dean heard water running, but he threw his free arm over his face and ignored the world around him.


End file.
